To You I Belong
by Anath Tsurugi
Summary: The first time the Winter Soldier sees Captain America, he can't help but think 'mine', even though he has no idea why. (Bucky/Steve, spoilers for TWS)


(A/N) Grr, okay, yeah, I'm supposed to be on hiatus, but now this bloody Winter Soldier movie's come out and I am just overcome by my Bucky/Steve feels, so I'll give myself a little relief. This is for a prompt over on cap kink. Only thing I really might need to warn for is mild dubcon, as we do see the Winter Soldier jacking off to the idea of fucking Cap.

**To You I Belong**

The first time he sees the target, he isn't yet a target. He's just a loose end attempting a futile pursuit as he leaves behind yet another successful mission. This one is fast, though; he must admit that to himself. He's actually keeping pace. Then he hears the sound of the shield slicing the air. He turns just in time to catch it, glaring at the agent before flinging it back at him.

He allows himself a moment to smirk beneath his mask when he sees the astonishment in the man's eyes. He's just about to vanish when he really gets a look at the agent's blue eyes…the way his blond hair frames those perfect eyes…and he is overcome.

_Mine._

He doesn't understand the thought. Nothing is his. _He_ is the object, the weapon to be used. Nothing belongs to a weapon…and yet he knows, beyond all doubt or any command that could possibly be given…this man belongs to him.

_Mine._

In no more than the blink of an eye, he takes in this other man, memorizing every detail for later perusal…and somehow every detail is known to him. With every inch he appraises, he already knows what he will see. He knows the way his shoulders tense under stress, recognizes the way his eyebrows knit together when he's working something out…he knows the soft curve of his neck and shoulder and is intimately familiar with the part of his full lips. Somehow he can see that face contorted in bliss and he knows that if he could see him unclothed he would see the body of an Olympian, perfect in every way imaginable. He doesn't understand, but he still _knows._ This belongs to him.

_Mine._

Before he can follow these thoughts any further, he disappears into the night. When he looks back from his perch to see the agent's mystified look, he feels the strong sense of possessiveness sweep through his body once more.

_You belong to __**me.**_

Who is this man?

XxX

He doesn't tell his superiors about the blue-eyed agent. They don't need to know. His mission was successful and the man was not part of that mission. The superiors don't care about anything else.

They must still need him, because they don't put him back in cryo when the mission is complete. Instead he's given a cell for the night, and as he lies on his cot, his thoughts carry him back to the agent…_his_ agent.

_Mine._

He doesn't think very much. He never has. He isn't supposed to ask why. He's only supposed to do what needs to be done. He's never really _had_ to think about anything before…and now there's this man…this man with lovely blue eyes, a strong jaw, and lips that practically beg to be kissed.

Growling, the soldier runs his fingers through his hair as he sits up. These thoughts have the ring of sentimentality to them, and sentimentality is not for him, never has been…so why now? Who the hell is this man? How is it possible he belongs to him? There's no question of whether this is true or not. Whatever else is true or not true inside his not necessarily reliable memory, he _knows_ this to be true. They say he doesn't need his memories, that what he was before doesn't matter; what he does _now_ is important. If that's true, though…why is this sudden truth lashing out at him, burning in his brain like the drugs they use to wipe him before cryostasis?

_Mine._

_Why?_

He laughs bitterly at himself before slamming his metal fist into the wall, leaving a very satisfying dent in the steel. Shaking the metal limb, he sneers up at the ceiling as he leans back against the wall. Really, if this man is his, there's only one thing he ought to do with him…take that perfect body, pin him to a wall, and use him until he's a crying, quivering mess. Perhaps they'd fucked…before…in the old days. Well, he supposes he can understand not wanting anyone else to lay hands on that golden hair…those broad shoulders…certainly a prize well worth the owning. In fact, it's been a long time since they've given him anyone to lie with. He has a mission, it's true, but just because he's enhanced doesn't mean he doesn't feel urges like other men.

Already he feels his skin starting to burn with want. He smirks to himself as he slips a hand into his pants…the hand that's still flesh…feeling the heat of it against his budding arousal. Perhaps they will let him take the agent? He can just picture it…taking him by surprise…allowing his golden prize a brief glimpse of his face in the dark. Then a kiss…harsh and demanding. The man groans against him, half in protest, half in want. Snarling quietly, he slips a hand between his legs and squeezes, telling him exactly what he wants with that simple touch.

They're both breathing heavily when he pulls back and when he looks into those blue eyes, he sees anger…a tiny spark of fear…and a hint of mirrored desire. _Yes,_ he thinks as he strokes himself. He will make this man want him in spite of himself. He _will_ see that face crumple with need…hear that voice cry out in pleasure.

He carries the fantasy through to completion, playing out every moment in his mind. He turns the golden-haired agent to the wall, wrenching an arm up behind his back to keep him pinned in place. The other hand reaches around front to undo his belt. Briefly, he palms the other man's erection through his jeans before shoving them down. The agent continues to struggle…and he can't quite help whispering that the hard on pretty much speaks for itself.

For a moment, the man goes slack in his embrace, but not all the fight is out of him yet, and he prefers it that way. The agent puts up a half-hearted fight as he prepares him…but mewls in helpless need when he finally thrusts into his body.

"_Mine!_" he hisses aloud, speeding up his strokes as he imagines the friction of penetrating the other man…a little harder…a little faster…and all of a sudden he's there, finishing with a loud grunt as he buries himself deep inside him, picturing his lovely agent collapsing against the wall as he also comes. He gives the man a whisper light kiss on the back of his neck…no more substantial than the brush of a few snowflakes…then he comes back to himself, smirking briefly at the mess he's made of his pants. He smirks as he lies back down on the cot. He doesn't really care how they find him in the morning. He's finally decided to have a little fun while he's awake.

_Mine._

The next night, he's told he must kill the man.

XxX

They call this man Captain America. They say he is like him…a super soldier. He will not be an easy mark. If they are the same, he imagines the captain might be the first to truly satisfy him in bed, so he almost regrets that he won't be able to bed him.

Almost.

Unlike the director, this man presents a real challenge. He might have easily been able to kill the second mark if not for him. He and his damn shield are there to meet every trick he has up his sleeve. They are perfectly matched, somehow able to know each other's moves, so that as they fight, it almost seems to become like a dance between them. He watches the captain watching him, looking into his eyes, as if trying to work something out, and now he really regrets that he won't be able to see that intensity focused on him in a much more intimate way, for this man will be dead soon. He's going to kill him.

_NO! _another part of his heart suddenly protests…something deeper than the part that knows this man belongs to him…something hidden…kept safe…something that will not be taken away from him, no matter what they say about his memories. As he slams the captain against a car, he's gripped by a near irresistible desire to embrace him…to kiss him and hold him close. What's _wrong_ with him?!

_Mine! You are __**mine!**_

_Who __**are**__ you?_

He doesn't get the chance to stew further, for the captain shoves him back. They grapple once more and in the struggle, the mask is lost. When they turn to face each other, Captain America looks like someone's put a knife through his heart.

"Bucky?" he whispers, blue eyes twisting in agony…but there is recognition in those eyes. He's never had someone look at him and _know_ him like that. It unnerves him.

Confused, he finally snaps, "Who the hell is Bucky?" before raising a gun to fire at his target…but he misses. How can he miss? He's _right there!_

Right there…he's right there in front of him…after so long…

_Bucky?_

_Who are you?_

He can't do it. He cannot kill this man. Something inside won't let him.

_I know him._

_Mine._

_I __**know**__ him!_

_Steve?_

He has the name for only a moment before it vanishes back into the depths of his incomplete heart…still safe…still protected…he _won't_ lose it. When he sees more agents surrounding him, one ready to shoot him, he nearly shoots the agent instead.

_He's __**mine! **_his ragged heart insists. _I won't let you hurt him._

The agent doesn't shoot, though. The two marks and their accomplice are taken prisoner…and he is taken back to headquarters.

They try to patch him up, but he won't let them near. So many thoughts swirling around in his head…ice…waking…falling…horrified blue eyes…eyes he would do anything to soothe…anything for a bright, blinding smile.

But those eyes…that name…those _feelings_…they had all been hidden away…to protect them from horrors…from what they had done to his mind and his body…and now they would use him to kill him. He cannot let them!

_I know him._

Someone's speaking, but he doesn't comprehend…doesn't answer, and he receives a slap to the face for it. The man's still speaking, but he can't understand it.

"That man…on the bridge…who is he?" he struggles to ask, even though he knows they will not answer. Indeed, the man tries to spoon-feed him some lie about how he'd seen him earlier in the week. He isn't an idiot. He knows that. This is different.

"I know him," he finally says out loud, desperate now, trying to make them understand. If he doesn't figure this out, his already fragile soul will be torn to pieces. Everything will break…and he will lose those eyes…that precious smile.

He continues to repeat himself as they talk, not really hearing what they're saying, just helplessly repeating the mantra, "I know him. I know him." It's more than just the feeling of possessiveness. It's his heart…his soul…his very existence. He feels it all slipping away from him. If he loses this…if they finally manage to take it away from him…he will be lost forever. He'd promised himself he would not lose it…but what is it he must not lose?

_Please…please…I know him. Don't take him away from me. I'll do anything you want! __**You can't take him!**_

No one hears him, though. They give him a mouth guard instead…push him back onto the table. They're going to erase him again. Faintly, he considers fighting, resisting what's happening to him. If he'd had any sense at all, he wouldn't have told them what he's feeling, but he isn't thinking clearly. He had tried so hard to get it back, but begging never works…_it never has,_ he thinks as he realizes this has happened before. He cannot fight. If he fights, he will lose…so he does what he's always done…tucks that precious something back into the void of his empty soul, pressing it back into darkness to keep it safe from what they will do to him. Maybe he cannot reclaim it, but he can still protect it…this very last inch of himself, no matter how small and fragile. He must never lose it…never let them take it away from him.

_I love you._

Then there's only pain.

XxX

When he's face to face with the captain once again, it's almost as if they never erased him. Everything comes rushing back full force, only he isn't desperate this time. This time, he's angry, angry that one man could exert so much control over him. It had taken an army of scientists to create him and it takes that many to control him, he knows…and this man can break him with a word.

How? How has he gone from knowing that he owns this man to being so thoroughly enthralled by him?

Captain America speaks as they fight, but he doesn't really hear what he's saying. He only hears him calling him Bucky…hears the desperation in his voice…sees the strangely familiar colors of the uniform he now wears…and the pain in those crystal blue eyes…the soul deep ache.

_You think you know pain, Captain? You don't __**know**__ from pain! Let me show it to you._

He tries so hard to defeat the captain…this demon inside of him. He even manages to make himself shoot him, but he's still losing…and knows that he _has_ lost when the captain saves his life as the Helicarrier falls to pieces around them, but even now he doesn't want to admit that to himself. He keeps fighting, keeps pushing back.

"I'm not gonna fight you," his target finally says, something breaking in his soul. "I love you. You're my…best friend." It was what they had always said…when they couldn't say anything else.

"You're my mission!" he snarls back, unwilling to let the truth break over him…for if he does, then he will _see_…he will _know_ what he has become…and he can't bear that.

"Then finish it," he says, lying back, waiting for the end, "'cuz I would rather die…than live in this world without _you. _I'm with you, James…until the end of the line."

"Steve?" he whispers. Then he's gone. Steve's _gone!_

It's the sight of him falling away that finally wakes him from his sleep. He's fallen away from this man before and he can hardly bear to think of what that must have done to him, because he now feels his own heart torn from his chest.

_Steve!_

Without even thinking, he throws himself after him. Nothing else matters, nothing but Steve's precious life. This can't end like it did seventy years ago. It _won't!_

_You're mine! __**Mine!**__ You can't die! You __**can't**__ leave me!_

He sees Steve hit the water first and he doesn't resurface before he has to brace for his own impact. It hurts, but pain means nothing to him…never has. The momentum of the fall carries him down and he dives right after his lover, who drifts in the water, unnervingly still as he sinks toward the bottom. In the moments before he reaches him, though, he's gripped by a memory…a memory of pain and ice…another fall into a river so long ago…and he barely manages to keep back the panic as he wraps his arms around Steve.

He pulls him to the surface in what seems to be no more than a breath, hauling him to the shore. When he has him laid out on the wet sand, he quickly checks for breath and a pulse, relieved to find both. As he brushes the wet hair back from Steve's face, he tries so hard not to think about any of it…not to remember the blood that stains his soul…or the traces of _Steve's_ blood still clinging to his knuckles…one flesh and one metal.

_What have I done? What have I done? What have I __**done?! **_the accusation repeats itself endlessly in his head as he gently caresses his love's battered face. He had vowed long ago to always protect Steve…even before he'd realized just how deep his love ran…and now…_this._ He would have _killed_ him. James? Bucky? Can he even call himself that?

_What am I?_

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his throat tightening against the pain…pain that seeks any release possible from his cursed body. For all he knows, this pain will _destroy_ his body…no more than he deserves. He knows he's crying, but he doesn't truly become aware of it until he sees the tears falling on Steve's face. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, leaning down to kiss his forehead, whispering tenderly against the clammy skin, "I love you."

"Bucky…?" Steve groans as his eyes flutter open, a hand reaching up to weakly grasp his wrist. Briefly, he panics, tries to pull away, but Steve grips just a little harder, and he feels his lover's pain and desperation through the small touch, feeling a pang of heartbreak beneath his ribcage.

"Bucky…please…don't go…" he pleads, his breath unsteady. Still trembling, he sits down beside Steve, their hands still clasped together.

"I almost killed you," he hisses, not looking at him.

"Then you would have…been doing me a favor," he says softly, drawing his hand up to his lips to kiss the still-bloody knuckle.

"Why would you say something like that?" he growls, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

"I wasn't lying up there…when I said I'd rather die than live in this world without you. I've _been_ dying ever since I lost you."

"Steve, you should have just left me to die. You _should_ kill me," he says, though he finds himself unable to let go of the other man's hand.

"Heh, only if you kill me first. I'm never letting go of you again," he says, eyes closing in exhaustion. "The only way you and me are goin'…is together."

"Steve, I can't-"

"Please," Steve begs again, voice just as desperate, but grip weakening, "stay. Don't go…don't leave me again. I can't…take it."

"All right," he finally agrees, stroking Steve's face with his metal hand, even though he can't feel it and all Steve must feel is cold. "I'll stay 'til they come for you. They'll come."

Steve chuckles…bitterly…in pain. "Story of my life, that…watching you walk away from me…can't stop you…can't save you. What good's all this God damn power…if I can't save _you?_" he asks, and he can hear in his words that Steve is giving voice to questions that have poisoned his heart for a very long time.

"You _did_ save me, Steve. You do nothing _but_ save me," he says. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to have enough of saying his name after so many years without it…so many years of dark and silence and cold. "I wouldn't be alive without you."

"Then why do you have to leave?" he asks. At first, he thinks the wetness on his former partner's face is just river water, but then he realizes that Steve is crying, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the redness that must be behind his eyelids. "Why do you have to face this alone?"

"Because I can't stay," he answers, his own tears still flowing silently. "I'm not who you need me to be."

"Bucky…please…" he tries again, finally opening his bloodshot eyes. "I love you."

"And I love you, Steve…more than I can ever say. You're the only reason they didn't erase me completely," he says as he lies down beside him on the sand. Then he leans in to press his lips against his in what must be the deepest kiss they've ever shared, bringing to mind nights of intense pleasure and burning passion…those feelings that had first rekindled his heart. God, how he wishes-

Suddenly his thoughts are interrupted by the crunch of footsteps racing toward them. They're coming for Steve. For a moment, their eyes lock on each other.

"No," Steve starts to plead. He silences him with one last loving kiss.

"Steve, I _will_ come back; I promise. Besides, you little punk, you'll always belong to me, yeah?"

Faintly, Steve nods and for a moment it's almost as if the time has never passed…as if the war never happened and they're just an ordinary pair of closeted lovers, Bucky crouching protectively over Steve's frail body as they make love.

"And I'm yours. I love you," he says. Then he's gone.

He hears Steve calling after him, but knows he's unable to come after him. Natasha pursues him briefly, but he manages to disappear and she has to give it up in the end. He stays hidden, watching…watching over Steve, making sure they get him to a hospital before disappearing back into the shadows.

It may be a long time before he can return to him, but he knows he will always be there to watch over Steve. He isn't Bucky yet, but he wants to be. After all, Steve is his…and he is Steve's. He wants to be worthy of that again…of calling Steve Rogers his own.

_Mine…my heart, my life, my light…my everything. __**Mine.**_

XxX


End file.
